by Lizzy Grey
“Thanks.” Reaching for a fork, he speared and ate a large pickled onion.
“I’m going to see Jack at lunchtime on Monday,” she announced. “To tell him thanks but no thanks.” She opened a cupboard, looking for some of the Tupperware boxes she had brought with her.
“Want me to come with you?” he offered.
Shaking her head, she gave him a grateful smile. “No. It’s a public place, I’ll be all right. Thanks, anyway.”
On Monday, she inhaled and exhaled a deep nervous breath before going into the crowded sandwich bar at one o’clock. Jack, eating a salad at a table in the far corner, grinned at her as she wound her way through the tables towards him. He got up and was leaning over to kiss her when she sat down instead, resting her handbag on her lap.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, re-taking his seat.
“I wanted to tell you to your face that I won’t be seeing you anymore.”
He tensed. “Why?”
She lowered her voice. “Because I’m not a slapper.”
“I never said you were. You’re married, aren’t you?” he demanded. “To this Stephen?”
“No.” She fought an urge to back away from him. “I’m not married but I still don’t think it’s right. I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to mess you about.”
He shrugged. “You shagged me half to death.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t a complaint.” He gave her a broad wink and she cringed.
“Yeah, well.” She rose from the table. “Goodbye.”
“Wait.” He rose, too. “You can’t just go.”
“Goodbye, Jack.” Winding her way back through the tables to the door, she opened it and went out onto the pavement, but could hear him following her. “I said goodbye.”
“Oh, come on.” He began to roar and the diners at the sandwich bar’s outside tables turned to stare. “You can’t just dump me like this.”
“Do you like making a fool of yourself in public?” she hissed, nodding towards the onlookers.
“Do you like to fuck them then leave them?” he continued and she winced, feeling eyes boring into the back of her head.
“Just go, please,” she urged.
“You heard her,” a familiar voice commanded, and her head jerked up. Stephen had appeared out of nowhere. “Go.”
“And who the hell are you?” Jack retorted. “Stephen?” Stephen frowned, throwing her a quick puzzled glance. “You must think all this is bloody hilarious. Do you get a kick out of knowing that your girlfriend gives herself a fancy false name when she screws other men but screams your name when she comes? Do you scream her name when you screw other women? Do you let her watch?”
“All right, that’s enough. Just go.”
“Make me,” Jack challenged, and Stephen reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out his warrant card. “Police.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Fuck sake, I should have known. I suppose you’re police, too?” he asked, turning to her.
“No, I’m not.”
Jack laughed dismissively before turning on his heel and going back into the sandwich bar.
“Are you all right?” Stephen asked, returning his warrant card to his pocket.
“Yes. Thank you.” Please don’t mention what he said, she begged silently.
“Good,” he replied simply. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
Shaking a little with a mixture of relief and embarrassment, she watched him walk away before turning in the opposite direction.
Stephen arrived home as she was getting Tommy ready for bed. He kissed Tommy goodnight then went out to the living area. Following him a few minutes later, she retrieved a plate from the oven, a fork from the cutlery drawer and brought them over to the breakfast bar.
“I hope it’s not too dried out,” she announced, and he glanced up from the newspaper he had been reading on the sofa. “It’s pasta bake, one of Tommy’s favourites.”
“I love pasta bake, too.” Putting the newspaper down, he got up and crossed the room. Pulling out a stool, he sat down at the breakfast bar and pulled the plate towards him. “Thanks. I’m starving, I didn’t have time to get any lunch in the end. When I got back to work, I rang the doctor and he’s squeezing us in at early surgery tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, good, thanks,” she replied, pouring herself a mug of coffee from the machine, hoping he wouldn’t mention Jack’s comments.
“I have done,” he said.
“Done what?” She turned around, setting her mug down beside his plate.
“Screamed your name when with another woman.”
She felt her cheeks burn. Was it the prostitute? “I see.”
“Do you?” he asked, before taking a sip of her coffee. “I bet he was flabbergasted when you started screaming, ‘Stephen’.”
“Don’t bloody flatter yourself.”
“Well, what else am I meant to think?” he added. “Unless it was another Stephen you were screaming about?” She looked away. “For God’s sake, Becca.”
She glanced back at him. “Don’t shout at me, Stephen, Tommy will hear.”
He threw a wary glance towards the hall door. “Am I still on trial, or what?”
She sighed. “I thought I was the one being interrogated.”
“I know you love me,” he said, reaching for her coffee again. “You know you love me. I just want to hear it from you.”
“Am I allowed to consult with a solicitor?”
A smile touched his lips. “I don’t think you need one, do you?”
“No,” she replied, watching as he drained her mug of coffee and set it down. “That was mine and I thought you were hungry.”
“I am hungry. I’m sorry, pour yourself another mug.”
She returned to the coffee machine, emptying the contents of the jug into her mug. Had she ever loved any man as much as Stephen? Would she ever love any other man as much as Stephen? No, was the simple answer. She inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath.
“I love you,” she told him and heard his own sharp intake of breath. “I admit it. But I wish I didn’t because I think I’ve been hurt enough to last me a lifetime.”
She jumped, feeling his hands around her waist. “I know,” he whispered.
“I couldn’t stand it if it happened again,” she whispered. “I really couldn’t.”
“Look at me.” He turned her around, resting his hands on her hips. “I’ve hassled you ever since the hospital, haven’t I? Why? Because I love you. And I love Tommy. I mean, you and him, what more could I want?”
“To make chief inspector by forty.”
He shook his head. “Not if it means losing you again.”
“You don’t mean that?”
“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I know you want to keep working and that’s fine, so do I. But not twenty-four-seven and if that ends my chances of making chief inspector by fifty even, then well…”
“You really mean it, don’t you?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ve never been more serious.”
She blew out her cheeks. “You’ve grown up a bit.”
He smiled. “Isn’t it about time?”
She couldn’t help but laugh and he bent and kissed her lips gently before drawing back.
“Is that it?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You have grown up.”
He didn’t smile and she moved uncomfortably within his grasp. “Becca, the truth is that I can’t go any further.”
“Can’t?” she repeated. “Stephen, please tell me what’s wrong? I overheard you mentioning a prostitute on the phone.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned, raising a hand to his forehead.
“Stephen, please?”
“All right.” He led her across the room to the sofas. “Sit down.”
She did as she was told, watching with a little surprise as he sat down opposite, rather than beside her. His hands were gripping the seat so tightly his knuckles were white and her heart b
egan to thump. What could it be?
“It was last year,” he began. “The week between Christmas and New Year. I was on my way home from work’s Christmas party with a woman I met there. We hadn’t bothered with a cab as we’d had a lot to drink and we wanted to sober up a bit. We didn’t sober up quickly enough, though, and we ended up having sex in an alleyway. Classy, I know.” He gave her a humourless smile. “Anyway, we were mugged. Something was sprayed in my eyes and it blinded me. She managed to run away but I was dragged further down the alleyway and,” he inhaled and exhaled a shaky breath, “I was mugged at knifepoint for my smartphone and wallet – and then stripped naked and beaten unconscious.”
A hand flew to her mouth. “Stripped and beaten?”
He nodded. “There were two of them. One held the knife to my neck while the other one punched me in the face and stomach when I didn’t hand over my smartphone and wallet to him immediately. I don’t think he intended to strip me but when he found my police warrant card, they decided to have some ‘fun’ with me. I wasn’t unconscious for long but when I came to, I discovered that they’d secured me to a street sign with cable ties and I couldn’t move. A delivery man found me in the morning. I must have passed out from the cold eventually. The next thing I knew, I was in hospital having every test known to man. Luckily, I hadn’t been raped, just beaten black and blue and humiliated. That’s why I’m not too thrilled about the DNA test.”
“Oh, God. Oh, Stephen.” She got to her feet, stroking his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m all right.” Taking her hand, he kissed it, then let it go. “I just haven’t been able to have sex since then. That’s why I went to a prostitute.”
“And?” she asked, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table.
He shrugged. “Couldn’t.”
“You don’t seem to mind anyone touching you. Do you know why you can’t?”
“No, so I started going to see Barbara.”
She flushed. “Sorry, I got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick.”
He gave her a little smile. “She’s wanted me to tell you from the moment you moved in but I didn’t want you feeling sorry for me.”
“Stephen, of course, I’m going to feel sorry for you. I’m not completely heartless.”
“I know.” He peered down at his hands. “I just didn’t know what you’d think of me.”
She sank to her knees, taking his hands in hers. “I’ve just told you I love you. I’m not going to take it back.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“Well, I’m not.” She was adamant. “I take it that your parents know nothing?”
“No. Can you imagine if they did know?” He almost smiled. “Their beloved detective inspector son found unconscious and naked in an alleyway in Soho.”
“Who does know?” she asked softly.
“A select few at work,” he told her. “Plus my doctor, Barbara, and now you.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Lifting his hands, she kissed them. “Look, forget about the bloody DNA test.”
“No, we’re getting it done, but my doctor has suggested cheek swabs rather than a blood test.”
“Okay. Were they ever caught or identified?”
“No.”
“And the woman?”
He shook his head. “I never saw her again. She may have been an accomplice, I don’t know. I just felt so ashamed of picking a woman up at the party and having sex with her, not even knowing what her name was. I was more than old enough to know better. Maybe the shame is something to do with why I can’t have sex now, I just don’t know, so I go and see Barbara every week.”
I’m so sorry. No wonder you cried that time I was horrible to you out on the roof terrace.”
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “The first night you spent here…I could have given you a T-shirt to wear or something…I’d kept the nightdress deliberately as a reminder of just how much I’d fucked everything up…I’d take it out every now and again to touch it, smell it, try and imagine you in it…I wanted to see you in it, you always looked stunning in it and when I saw you…” His eyes dropped to her breasts. “How you were almost pouring out of it.” He sighed. “Well, I went back to my room with my first erection in over a year.” He raised his eyes to her face again almost shamefully.
“A year? I hope you had a good old wank?” she asked and he spluttered a laugh.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear me. The truth was, in the beginning, I didn’t want sex. I didn’t want anyone to find me attractive. I didn’t want anyone to come near me because I felt dirty so I took refuge in food. Crisps, chocolate, chips – you name it. I was getting pretty fat.”
She looked him up and down. He was anything but fat now. “So what did you do?”
“I started smoking again,” he explained. “It was a stupid thing to do but that, along with my workload continually doubling and trebling, well, the weight fell off. Then, I had to try and stop smoking without getting fat again. I managed it, just about. I just have to be careful what I eat now. I don’t want to turn into a slob again.”
“I can’t believe you were fat. I mean, you’re so tall…”
“I had a huge stomach on me like you wouldn’t believe. You’ve never been fat?” he asked.
“Yes, I have.” She smiled. “When I was at boarding school I was very fat but it fell off when I was eighteen and I left home. It was weird, suddenly all my clothes were far too big for me. I’ll never be thin but I hope I won’t be fat like that again either, I ended up having to wear clothes even my mother wouldn’t wear because I couldn’t get anything else.”
“You’re beautiful.” He ran his hands up her back. “I don’t like thin, anyway.”
“When would you like me to wear that nightdress again?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” he replied, sounding nervous.
“We could go out on a date?” she suggested. “And take things from there?”
“A date?” he repeated.
“A ‘first date’ – a meal and then a drink? Would your father babysit Tommy sometime soon?”
“I’m sure he’d love to.” Stephen began to smile. “A ‘first date’ sounds good.”
“All right.” She kissed his hands again. “I’ll reheat the pasta for you, while you ring your father.”
The three of them were at the doctor’s surgery at half past eight in the morning. Tommy was told that his new doctor wanted to meet him and give him a general check-up, which was partly true. The cheek swabs were taken and the results were expected back in three days.
Becca hadn’t been in a restaurant, unless collecting a rare takeaway from the local Indian restaurant counted, since the meal with Stephen in the Brighton hotel all those years ago. Pulling her one and only dress out of the wardrobe three nights later, she grimaced. It was bright red, had a plunging V neckline, and was a bit full on for a ‘first date’, but it would have to do.
“You look lovely.” Stephen smiled when she emerged from her bedroom. He looked gorgeous in an expensive-looking black suit and white shirt and for a moment she considered abandoning the date and just pulling his clothes off him right there and then. “I’ve booked us a table in Morelli’s for eight o’clock and Dad is on his way.”
“Morelli’s?” she repeated. “Bloody hell, is old Mr Morelli still alive?”
“He is,” he replied as the intercom buzzed. “’Must be about ninety now but he still does an awesome spaghetti carbonara. Dad’s early, good. We can give him the test result before we go.”
They had collected the result of the DNA test that morning and it was a ninety-nine point nine percent positive match. Stephen was Tommy’s father.
Stephen greeted his father and brought him into the living area. “…Yes, Morelli’s, but before we go, Becca and I have something to give you to give to Mum.”
“Oh?” Michael Connor frowned as Stephen picked up an envelope and pulled out some sheets of pape
r. “What’s that?”
“The results of a DNA test.” Stephen passed them over. “Proving beyond doubt that I am Tommy’s father.”
His father pulled an exasperated expression. “Stephen, there was no need for this.”
“There was, Dad. You are Tommy’s grandad. We would love for Mum to be his granny.”
“Mrs Connor doesn’t have to like me,” she told him. “And I don’t mind that. But Tommy needs a granny.”
Michael Connor nodded. “I’ll show this to her. Now go and enjoy yourselves.”
Stephen was right. Mr Morelli’s carbonara was still amazing. She pushed her dish away and exhaled a contented sigh. “Delicious.”
“More wine?” Stephen held up the bottle.
“Yes, please.”
“Dessert?” he added as he poured.
“Thanks, but I couldn’t. I’m stuffed. It was bloody good, though.”
He grinned, putting the bottle down. “It was. Best carbonara in London.”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “We’ve been making small talk all evening. Are you regretting telling me about what happened to you?”
He shook his head and took a gulp of wine. “No. But I was dreading telling you. I had no idea how you’d react. I’m bloody relieved you took it so well.”
“That scary, am I?” she teased gently and he just laughed.
“Shall we go for a drink before we go home?”
“Sounds good,” she said and drained her glass, watching as he signalled to the waiter for the bill.
They crossed the street and went into a pub. “What will you have?” he asked. “I’m having a whisky.”
“Then, I will have one, too, please.”
“Two whiskies coming right up. Find us a table.”
She found one in a corner and he joined her a few moments later with what looked like two double whiskies. She hadn’t drunk so much whisky in years. Maybe she should have asked for more white wine.
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his glass.
“Cheers.” She touched his glass with hers. “So, when were you last out on a date?”
“A proper date? Not just picking women up in pubs and clubs for sex? About five years ago,” he told her and her heart lurched. “So, the fact that I’m out on a date again at all, and that it’s with you, is astoundingly good going for me.”